


Silver and Gold

by violethoure666



Series: Silver and Gold [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, HPB, Romance, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 05:51:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5363804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violethoure666/pseuds/violethoure666
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Hermione and Draco are paired up to work on a interdisciplinary project in their 6th year, Hermione is forced to come face to face with darkness growing inside Draco. But for the first time, she is also close enough to see his light. <br/>Set during 6th year, during HBP but obviously takes a different turn from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: So it’s been a long time since I wrote any fic with substance, and I will try to update this regularly! It is unbeta’d, so please feel free to let me know if you see any mistakes or errors. I am open to all criticism! My main concern is keeping the story believable and the characters acting true to themselves, at least within the confines I have given them. Rated M for later chapters, as I'm not sure how dark or dirty this story might get, also there will be mentions of abuse and violence as the story progresses. As always, all reviews are appreciated! And in case you were wondering I do not own anything related to the Harry Potter universe, much to my chagrin.

Chapter One

The rush and noise of Platform 9 ¾ resonated like crashing waves. Hermione wondered, not for the first time, at how peculiar it is that no muggles noticed them. No one looked up from their papers or conversations to stare at the nervous looking 11 year olds toting large owls, or the rowdy teenagers in long black robes rolling oversize trunks.   
She recalled her first year at Hogwarts, how everything in her world suddenly brimmed with a magic that she had always known existed, but had felt foolish for believing in. Suddenly the world was alive with color and sound and possibility.   
She couldn’t see it now.  
The noise was the same, the faces the same, the excitement of the first day of school (something she was always incredibly fond of, even before Hogwarts) was muted and distant in light of what she knew now.   
War was coming, and the idea of returning to school seemed so insignificant she had spent endless nights that summer lamenting over it. Why even bother? There was real work to be done, the order was deep underground doing research and she knew that her efforts would be better spent helping them.  
But they thought it was too rash, the time would come, they assured her, but for now she needed to keep some sense of normalcy. And besides, Dumbledore wanted Harry at Hogwarts.

“Are you ready?” A voice said from beside her, and she snapped her head up to look at where it had come from. Ron was watching her, a knowing look in his eye.   
She doubted his thoughts were nearly as well formed but knew that the sentiment must be roughly the same. She squeezed his arm.  
“Of course, let’s go.”

Hermione, Ron and Harry all set off through the brick wall and hurried onto the Hogwarts Express. No matter what darkness lay ahead in the future, if this was her last time boarding this train, she wanted it to be a pleasant memory.

They found their seats in an unoccupied compartment and Ron and Harry began chatting about what The Order was doing and what they thought Dumbledore had planned for Harry. Harry told Ron and Hermione about Professor Slughorn and how Dumbledore was sure that he held information they needed to bring down Voldemort.   
They laughed and had snacks from the trolly and Hermione was finally feeling better about the coming year as the sky outside grew dark.  
Just then, Draco Malfoy passed by their open door with a group of his cronies. Harry’s eyes darkened and with them, the atmosphere in the small train car darkened too.   
“I’ll catch up with you guys,” Harry said as he slipped away. Ron just shrugged and handed Hermione some more chocolate, which she gladly accepted.   
Harry and Draco’s feud had always been something of a norm at Hogwarts. What schoolboy didn’t have a nemesis? But it had all been relatively harmless fun for years.   
Now, with Draco’s father exposed as a Death Eater, she had to admit she was a bit surprised to find him at school. But then again, she was sure it was a bit surprising to find Harry Potter, The Chosen One, riding in to attend History of Magic like the rest of them. This was a part of the game, keeping everything calm for as long as they could before the whole world would be thrust into battle.   
The train stopped at Hogsmeade station. They waited for Harry, but he didn’t show, and eventually they were pushed onto the carts wheeled by invisible Thestrals and out toward Hogwarts Castle, glowing faintly in the mist. 

 

When Harry finally caught up to them in the great hall, he didn’t offer any explanation for his tardiness or bloody nose. Once they were alone however, he wasted no time.  
“Malfoy’s taken the mark.” He said.  
“Are you sure?” Hermione asked, her head spinning. She knew, in some rational part of her brain, that Malfoy would eventually follow in his father’s footsteps. But the idea of a student, still living in the castle, bearing the dark mark was too much for her to bear.  
“You can’t know that Harry, I mean think of how completely impractical it would be.”  
“I dunno,” Ron said, “I bet the little git has been begging to sign up for the army of darkness since he was old enough to hold a wand.”  
“It’s not that simple Ron, that’s not exactly something you can go around showing people. I mean just having it would mean expulsion, right? Correct me if I am forgetting some Society for the Protection of Death Eater Rights”  
“I know it seems improbable,” Harry said, shifting in his seat to lean closer to her, his tone urgent, “But what isn’t these days? Trust me, the way that Malfoy was talking, or should I say bragging…I’m sure of it.”

The three sat in silence, trying to let the information sink in. If this was true, it changed everything. Malfoy wasn’t some stuck up bratty kid waiting to run to his father at every turn, he was something much darker, much more sinister, and much, much more dangerous. 

 

Draco Malfoy felt his face tighten as Harry Potter walked back into the great hall. He tried not to let the emotion reach his eyes. Keeping face was invaluable at this point, and he had already started to get cocky. It probably wasn’t a good idea to beat the shit out of Potter before school even started, considering his warnings to keep a relatively low profile so his going-ons wouldn’t be tampered with. But he felt fairly certain that Potter wasn’t going to run off and tell on him. Admitting that he had been brutally beaten by Malfoy didn’t seem like something the boy would brag about, and more to the point, it didn’t seem like something that would happen anymore. They weren’t just students, running to the comfort of their professors. They were men, and men at war. Or they would be very soon.   
Draco let his frustration go and turned back to his fellow Slytherins. He was catching pieces of the conversation, but it seemed droll, unimportant, and frankly beneath him.   
He stared out across the great hall at Potter again, but his eyes unintentionally tracked to the left of him, where Granger was sitting.   
At the sight of her, his mouth did tighten, his emotion did reach his eyes. She was the worst of the lot.   
Weasley was so beneath him that he hardly merited a thought. And Potter was going to get what he deserved, all that hubris, all those years spent thinking he was the chosen one, Merlin’s gift to the wizarding world. It was pathetic.   
But Granger well, she set his teeth on edge. She was sharp as a tack, he would give her that, and she had gusto, but she followed her cause so blindly he couldn’t respect her. She had no idea what she was fighting for, no sense of truth in the world, not even an inkling of her purpose. It was as if the fact that she was a mudblood didn’t even affect her. It would be better, he thought, if she at least understood her place and rallied against it, but she saw herself as equal, truly on all levels and this was the worst crime a person could commit in the eyes of Draco Malfoy. He had, on more than on occasion, entertained the thought of draining her filthy blood just to show her how foul it really was. He imagined the look on her face as her body emptied and the scarlet syrup pooled below her.   
He snapped out of his thoughts as students began standing. He realized he had hardly touched his dinner. It didn’t matter. He was letting himself get sidetracked; the golden trio was nothing but a distraction along the way. The Dark Lord had chosen him, and he would not disappoint. 

 

“I just don’t think this is a good idea, Professor. I mean, Malfoy is a prat at best and something seriously sinister at worst. You know Harry thinks that he’s taken the mark?” Hermione was pacing around McGonagalls office, talking as fast as her mind was racing.  
“Miss Granger, I understand your trepidation in this case but there is more to this project than grades. I am pairing you with Mister Malfoy because I want you to watch him.”  
“Is it true then, does he have the Mark.”  
“I can’t be certain, but given his circumstances it wouldn’t be out of the question. Dumbledore is watching him carefully, as is Professor Snape, but I think the more we can keep him under the eye of the order the better.”  
“Why not just pull up his sleeve and expel him?” She asked, sitting down in a chair with more force than she intended.   
“Because we at the order have agreed that it is best if Draco is here at Hogwarts, and not holed up in the Death Eater headquarters. I know that you dislike him Hermione,” McGonagall’s eyes poured into hers with light and fire, “But please understand that Dumbledore believes he can be saved, and if there is a chance of that, then we must work to get him on our side, to see what he knows, or at least keep him from the darkest clutches of Voldemort.”   
Hermione wanted to argue, she personally believed that Draco Malfoy was past saving, but she was in no position to argue.   
She sighed, rubbed her temple, and pushed her curls back from her face.   
“Okay. What do you need me to do?”  
“Draco has also been made a prefect this year. His grades are second to yours, you know, he is an incredibly bright wizard.”  
Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn’t argue; she knew her Professor was right.  
“As you know, prefects are required to work together on an interdisciplinary study that ties together all subjects of magical learning. It takes the year to complete, and will count for 30% of your overall grade. I am going to pair you and Mister Malfoy together for this project, and you will have to meet at least three times a week to work on it. Now Hermione, I urge you to be tactful here, play dumb, don’t pry. I only want you to gauge his appearance, his moods, his demeanor for now. Do you understand?”  
“I do.” Hermione said. She had resigned herself to this rather unpleasant task already, and with resignation came a pounding headache.   
“Don’t worry, Professor. I can handle it.”

 

Draco was desperate for a few moments alone. The hum and roil of the Slytherin common room was no longer a comfort. He felt as though he was surrounded by children; no one could even begin to understand what he was going through.  
The task given to him by The Dark Lord seemed impossible, and Draco was pretty sure that even Voldemort believed that.   
This was punishment, this was the crime of the father befalling the son, and Draco knew that he had no choice. Voldemort wouldn’t hesitate to kill his family, to kill him. He probably already planned on it. He was just playing with his food at this point. But it didn’t matter; Draco wouldn’t call what he felt optimism, exactly, and it certainly wasn’t hope. It was survival instinct. He was certain that he would do whatever he needed to do to in order to this survive this. His loyalty wasn’t necessarily with Voldemort but with his parents, and their loyalty was with The Dark Lord. Draco had never questioned it; it was fact. They lived on planet Earth, there was magic, some people were better than others, he was lucky, he was pure. End of story.   
Draco wasn’t stupid, though. He could see that while blood purity was indeed a fact, for Voldemort, blood was more of a means to an end. It was a battle cry for people who would adhere to any battle cry if it meant they could fight for more power. More glory. More money. Control of the world. All in all, it didn’t sound so bad to Draco. His side was stronger, their magic was purer, they were ruthless, willing to do whatever it takes to win, and Draco liked to win. He liked to be on the winning side.   
He didn’t feel like he was winning now. His options were limited, and the reality of his situation was like a long hallway, and he was walking slowly to avoid going through the final door. He had no choice but to kill Dumbledore, but if he could do it without being blamed for it then that was ideal. He would like to be able to remain in the public eye if possible; the idea of being a pariah was somewhat troubling. He cared more about what would happen to him afterwards if he actually went through with it than what it would mean to actually go through with it, to kill one of the most powerful wizards alive.   
Draco needed air. He excused himself from where he was sitting with Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson and headed for the exit. The hallway was quiet, which was a blissful relief, but the dungeon was still damp and humid, he needed to breathe the cold night air. He began his accent through the castle.

 

Hermione was comforted by the familiar glow of the fire, the sounds of 1st years laughing and 6th and 7th years arguing over who deserves the best seats. Someone set off a firecracker and a few girls screamed before breaking out into giggles. Cormack was staring at her from across the common room and she glanced away to roll her eyes at Lavender. She felt like she could forget for a moment, if only she could trick her brain into believing that this was all there was to life. She was a 16 year-old girl regular teenage problems. Which boy was eying her across the room, how she was going to pass all of her advanced classes, what to buy on the first trip to Hogsmeade.   
But Hermione was smart, and she couldn’t turn her brain off no matter how hard she tried. She knew deep down that this was a façade, a farce. She was boiling beneath her skin, she wanted to fight. She wanted to be doing work that was tangible, that would somehow help them win this seemingly hopeless war.   
Hermione was not an optimist, although she never once lost hope. She was realistic about everything, logic was her safeguard, and logically she knew that Voldemort’s numbers were larger, and that his army would be willing to do whatever it took to win. That was the trouble with fighting for good, you had to abide by a moral compass to do it. They couldn’t just go out and kill everyone they suspected of being a Death Eater; that was against the point. She was ashamed to admit that she had thought about it before, how much easier it would be if they could sink their level and play dirty.   
Suddenly the fumes from the fire were cloying and the noise was like a rush of blood in her ears. She needed to get away; she was worried if she stayed here it would become obvious to everyone around her that something was terribly wrong. She smiled as she slipped away from the common room and out through the portrait.   
She wandered through the hallway silently, casting a charm to ensure her footfalls didn’t make any noise. It wasn’t against the rules for her to be out, she was a Prefect after all and they had different hours than the rest of the students. But she didn’t want to speak to anyone,. She wanted to just wander along quietly for as long as she could, for as long as it took the fire in her blood to calm down.   
She meandered up toward the astronomy tower, eager to feel the wind as it shifted from Summer to Fall against her skin.   
She was so lost in her own thoughts she didn’t realize that someone was already there, leaning against the rails. She froze, taking in the sight of Draco Malfoy. Arguably, he was the last person she wanted to see right now, he would do nothing to help her anger diminish. She considered her options and wondered if she could turn around and walk away without him noticing, but the Slytherin was used to hyper vigilance, and he turned around before she could make her move.   
“Well, well, if it isn’t the Mudblood Princess out for a stroll.”  
The words hardly affected her, she was used to Malfoy’s slurs, and frankly at this point they seemed uninventive and droll. She heard McGonagall’s voice in her head, and knew that she would be working with Malfoy all year. She didn’t want this to escalate, but she was already in a foul mood and looking at his slender form in the moonlight, sneering and ready to pounce only pushed her deeper into her anger.  
“I thought I smelled something foul on the way up here, I should have known it would be you. There’s a definite air of arrogance and failure.” She placed her hands on her hips as she spoke.   
“Watch it, Granger. I wouldn’t mess with me if I were you.”  
“Oh, I’m shaking,” Hermione said, meeting his stare and dropping as much sarcasm into her voice as she could muster.  
Draco moved toward her in a rush of peppermint and coffee and something not that different from new parchment. She felt her stomach clench, she really wasn’t sure what he was capable of anymore. This close she could see how pale he was, more so than usual. His skin was almost grey, his eyes like pieces of sliver flint, sharp and cutting. He towered over her, his lean arms tight against his sides. She had to steal herself not to take a step backwards. She reminded herself that if it came to a duel, she could overpower him. This wasn’t the muggle world where she was left to only her body strength.   
“Speaking of foul stenches,” He whispered as he got closer to her, “I can smell your putrid blood through your skin…I wonder how easy it would be to tear through it.”   
She shuddered against her will, and he smirked, turned on his heel, and left the tower.   
Hermione felt her anger redouble and walked to the rail to take a few deep, shuddering breathes. It was going to be a very long year.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any reviews are VERY VERY appreciated! I originally posted this story on another site but was getting zero feedback, and I am hoping that I can get some notes from you all on here! I appreciate all criticism. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter Two

Draco was furious. He was sure that this ploy to pair him up with Granger was Dumbledore’s way of keeping an eye on him. Send the mudblood to spy, of course. He should have guessed when he made a prefect, but his pride had clouded his vision because he thought that he deserved it. Why shouldn’t he be a prefect? His grades were top in his year, except for Granger of course. But once Snape told him that he would be paired with Granger for their year-long project, he knew he had been trapped.  
“Don’t you see what this is?” He asked Snape, snarling at the potions master who as always, remained calm and stoic.   
“It’s a fucking joke, that’s what it is. Me and Granger, all year, working side by side. You know what I am dealing with Snape, you know that there is no time for this.”  
“It appears you don’t have a choice. The Dark Lord needs you to remain at Hogwarts, and whether or not this is all a ploy on Dumbledore’s part, this is still his school and he is well within his rights to assign you a project.”  
“It’s a trap, she’s a little spy.”  
“Be that as it may, Draco, I don’t really see any way around it. My only advice to you is that you be civil enough to give her nothing to work with, she’s clever but she’s not a mind reader. She won’t suspect you’re up to anything unless you give her reason to do so.“   
He wasn’t as quick to underestimate Granger as Snape was though. She was as clever as she was pathetic and having her poking around meant Draco had to be on his game 100% all the time. He grabbed his books and stormed off, the bitter taste of bile raising in his throat. This was the last thing he needed, his plate was full, overflowing and rotten at that. Meat with maggots, right to the brim. That was his whole life in this hellhole.   
He knew that Snape was right; he had no choice. He had to at least pretend to be a student while he was here, it would do no good to be kicked out. The Dark Lord needed him here, and so here he would stay. The alternative was what, death? Watching his family be destroyed? Thanks, but no thanks.   
He shivered as he stepped out of the grounds, the weather was breaking already and he was only in a tee shirt and jeans. He didn’t care, he relished the feeling of the cold on his skin, it brought him back down to earth.   
He had to somehow figure out how to work with Granger without violently attacking her or giving her any clues to what stress he might be under. The more she believed he was just his usual dick self the better. Rising above had never been Draco’s strong suit, and it troubled him that even under the current circumstance, all he could think about was cursing Granger until her vocal chords were ash and her pretty little face was twisted and ugly.   
He walked down to the lake, it was deserted and he was thankful. He didn’t want to speak to anyone; no one could possibly understand the pressure he was under, the things he had to deal with. He was angry with everyone for their stupid, oblivious little lives.   
He stood by the lake, toying with a small, silver series of interlocking gears that he knicked off a first year when he wandered away in the common room. It would teach the child not to leave valuable things lying around where other people could see them, something Draco had learned early on. The sun began to sink and he resigned himself to what he would have to do. He headed back toward the castle; he had to meet Granger in fifteen minutes. 

 

Hermione was breathing heavily, her heart was pounding in her ears and her arms felt like they were going to fall off but she didn’t stop. She slammed her fists into the punching bag again, and again. She had been tucked away in the room of requirement for an hour, having turned it into her own private gym. She found that the only way she could release the stress in her limbs was to use them until they were too weak to move. She glanced at her watch; she had 15 minutes until she had to meet Malfoy. She stopped to catch her breath, taking a sip from her water bottle. She didn’t have time for a proper shower so she cast a Scourgify instead and changed out of her workout clothes and into her school robes. She checked her reflection in the mirror, cast a quick charm to darken her eyelashes and smooth her skin before pulling her hair into a knot on her head.   
Her hope was that if she exerted all of her energy just before meeting Malfoy, she wouldn’t feel the overwhelming need to punch him every time he spoke.   
She headed down from the 7th floor to the 3rd, where she and Draco would be allowed to use the empty Charms classroom during Flitwick’s free period. She braced herself for the worst, and pushed the heavy door aside to enter the classroom.  
Draco was there already, hunched over a table like a shock of white gold. His hair was loose over his face and for a moment, he seemed so much younger than she had ever seen him, even as a child. He looked troubled, perhaps even sick. There was no color in his face, and his shoulders were tense and heavy. He glanced up and his face was puckered back into its usual sneer by the time he reached her eyes.   
“I would appreciate punctuality Granger, I believe we agreed on 3:00pm, it’s 3:02.”  
“God forbid Draco Malfoy has to wait two minutes, I’ll alert the press to your great injustice.” Hermione snapped, but she felt as if this was a win for him. She was usually very punctual. She didn’t tell him that though.   
“Believe me, the injustice is the fact that I am working with you at all. It is undeniably beneath me to waste any energy on such a snobby little mudblood.” His tone was somewhere between malice and boredom, as if the effort of insulting her was somewhat trite.   
“Oh right, and I am thrilled at this proposition, nothing makes my day more than being insulted and ridiculed by someone who’s opinion means less to me than raw sewage.” She spat. His mouth tightened and his eyes darkened like storm clouds.  
“Splendid then, we can agree on something at least.”  
She sighed and sat down opposite him at the table. As long as he was willing to work, she was sure she would be able to tolerate the hour-long study session.   
He had already compiled a few notes, starting with History of magic, which she had also agreed would be the logical place to start.   
She slammed, Hogwarts, A History down on the table.  
“I figure we can start with compiling a history chronologically, and then it will be easier to add in other subjects as major events appear.”   
Malfoy rolled his eyes, his posture tight and his body pulled as far away from her as he possibly could. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes.  
“No shit Granger, thanks for stating the obvious, again you manage to set the golden standard for cleverness.” He regarded her with nothing less than disgust, and she stole her body not to react. It didn’t matter; he was going to push her as much as he could.   
“I figure I will take everything from The Battle of Broken Batons in the year 825 BC and go through Glaodos the Great in 235 AD, and you can take over from there. If we split the load we could have an outline by next month.”   
“You’re already messing everything up, Merlin, do you want to fail? It doesn’t make sense to talk about the Battle of Broken Batons without first talking about the Morisian Shift in 987 BC, without that context the battle makes no sense. Honestly I don’t know who decided to call you clever. I’m beginning to wonder what else you had to do to earn those grades, Granger. Has your mouth been working as hard as your brain?”  
Hermione felt the color in her cheeks rise despite herself. She ignored his comment and opted for peace instead.  
“That makes sense, I’ll start there then, and you can agree to take everything after 235 AD?”  
“Yes fine. Do we have to continue here together? I think it would be best if I could do my work somewhere that the stench of impurity can’t reach me. I’m worried I’ll start gagging if you get closer to me.”  
Hermione pursed her lips tightly before opening her mouth to reply, “No you’re right, I don’t expect I could accomplish anything whilst in the same vicinity as your ferrety little face. Let’s plan on the same time on Wednesday, yes?”  
“I can’t wait.” Malfoy sneered coldly and left the room so quickly, any reply Hermione might have had died on her tongue. 

 

Draco was relatively pleased with himself. He had managed to maintain the same rude sarcasm he was always quick to duel out without sabotaging their project completely. And most importantly, he was sure that he hadn’t given Granger an inch in terms of what he might be dealing with outside of this stupid project.   
The good news was that the workload would hardly take him a night to finish, it was easy work and it came naturally to him.   
The period of adjustment was coming to a close, he was settling into his old routine despite the dramatic differences of this year. He was almost beginning to feel some sense of normalcy when a package arrived for him at his dorm window. It was obviously from his father, normal mail would have been delivered to him directly during breakfast, as always. Nothing like a reminder of the task at hand to rip away any shred of a decent mood he had managed.   
He opened the package. It was a book on vanishing cabinets and spells for reparation. His task. Repair the cabinet, kill Dumbledore, let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts. Simple, right? His stomach felt sour, like milk was curdling inside of him as he sat there. He couldn’t forget what he had to do. His life depended on it. His mother’s life depended on it. His father, his father was a different beast. Draco had this overwhelming desire to please him, to make him proud, but the older he got the more impossible it seemed and the more he began to resent his father. His father, so light in appearance and dark on the inside, always obsessed with pain and power.  
When Draco was a child, he had fallen off his broomstick and broken his leg. It was a nasty break but would have been easy to fix, really, their house elf Dobby could have mended him in an instant but his father had refused to let him. Draco had taken the broom out without asking, and in Lucius Malfoy’s house, disobedience was always paid for with blood.   
He let eight year-old Draco suffer for a day and night, his leg at an odd angle, jagged and sickening. Draco had screamed and cried, pleaded with his father until finally he vomited. Fever crept over him and his leg was a pale green. He began to wonder if his father would let him die for sneaking out onto his broom, but Lucius didn’t let him die, he allowed Draco to be healed after 24 hours of intense agony in which he was in and out of consciousness.   
He vaguely remembered the house elf sneaking into his room, wide eyes glowing in the darkness as he muttered a numbing spell when Draco had screamed himself horse.   
After the incident, little Draco had felt no anger toward his father, no resentment, he was sure he deserved everything he got. He had gone against him, how could he have done that? He swore that he would never betray his father again.  
“I believe you,” Lucius had said, when Draco came crawling back to him all apologies and trembling child limbs.   
It wasn’t the last time Draco had been at the mercy of his father’s punishments but it was the last time he deliberately disobeyed his father. Loyalty to Lucius was engrained as deeply as anything; it had replaced love and admiration with fear and a sick desire to please him. Now more than ever, he knew that he couldn’t let his father down.   
He began to read the book and when he was ready, he headed to the 7th floor to begin his first attempt at repairing the cabinet. 

 

Draco hadn’t slept a wink. A good night sleep was quickly becoming a distant memory, something only the untroubled were blessed with. For the last week, he had hardly been able to sleep more than an hour or two a night, and last night sleep had eluded him completely. He was feeling sick, his stomach was in knots and all he could put down in the great hall was a cup of black coffee. He had met with Granger three times already, and the prospect of meeting her again today made him feel nauseous. He was overwhelmed with the load on his shoulders. He had decided to devote himself completely to the task of repairing the vanishing cabinets. He couldn’t let himself forget, even for a moment, how vital this task was. Underneath his anger and confusion Draco still felt an incredible amount of pride in being charged with this task. He knew that the chance to bring his family’s name back into the good graces of The Dark Lord was one most would not have been given. He would not fail. He would not let them down.   
He spent all his free time researching how he might fix the vanishing cabinet, occasionally looking through books for ways to kill Dumbledore that didn’t involve getting his hands dirty. It would be a blissful relief to have the task over and done with, and if he could accomplish it on his own without the help of the Death Eaters it would leave room for trouble.   
Draco had trained with his Aunt Bellatrix all summer. She had worked with him on Occlemency (which he was slowly but surely getting the hang of), nonverbal spells (much easier to learn, he had perfected this within a week) and learning the unforgivable curses (easier said than done, they made Draco feel a little queasy). Draco had always been a quick learner; school and studies came naturally to him. His memory was sharp as a tack; he had a mind for numbers as well as for words and dates. Hearing something once was enough to let the information sink down into the part of his brain that would keep it.   
He knew that he was smart, but his inadequacies ate away at him like lye.   
He took off and headed up the stone steps from the dungeon. He was due to meet Granger in ten minutes. His head was pounding, his eyes felt heavy, and he was in a foul mood. He debated running by the kitchen to snag something to eat, but an overall sense of nausea, brought on by stress and a lack of sleep, left him utterly unappitized.   
He reached the classroom that he and Granger had been using for their project, and found her already waiting. Her hair was pulled back in some mess of a bun, her eyes wide on her book. She hadn’t heard him come in. For a moment he was lost, almost like he was suspended in a dream state. His eyes were playing tricks on him, the sunlight behind her head made it look as if she was glowing, she was all chocolate curls and a strawberry mouth. Her head snapped up to meet his eyes and the trick of the light passed; she schooled her features as she searched his face, and he was adamant on not giving her anything.   
Draco sneered as he said, “Well, you’re looking frazzled Granger, but then I expect that even magic doesn’t easily fix your appearance. I don’t know what I would do if I had to try and hide so much ugly every day.”  
The briefest flicker of shame flashed through her eyes before she tightened her mouth and said, “If you don’t mind, Malfoy, I want to get started.”  
He hardly heard her words, he responded automatically. His head was throbbing, when was the last time he ate? He became lost in his own thoughts, his hands were shaking a bit.  
“Malfoy...Malfoy…Draco!” Granger snapped at him,  
“Merlin, what?”  
“Are you okay?” She asked, somewhat tentatively. He hadn’t realized he had been totally zoned out.  
He moved to apologize automatically and stopped himself when he remembered whom he was speaking to.  
“Fucking hell Granger, yes I’m fine, not that it’s any of your bloody business. I mean seriously how stupid are you?”  
She blushed and snapped her mouth shut.   
“I think that we got quite enough done today, I’ll see you on Friday.” She said, and headed out the door.   
Draco had to fight the urge to tell her to wait, to ask her to come back and to apologize, yet again. But he bit his tongue. He needed sleep, he really was losing his mind.

 

Draco was obviously under serious stress. Hermione had noticed dark circles under his silver eyes, his lips were dry and chapped and he seemed far away, lost in his own mind. She made notes to give to professor McGonagall. She was becoming more and more convinced that he was working for the Death Eaters, that whatever he was working on was something that was messing him up, and that made her nervous. He was distracted, and clearly suffering. She wasn’t sure what Draco was capable of anymore. She had seen him go from a sniveling child, running to his father and using any dirty trick to get ahead, to an incredibly intelligent but mislead and nasty little boy, to this version of himself. On the one hand he seemed so self-assured and on the other, he seemed completely lost and withering away under some invisible pressure.   
She wasn’t sure why, but there was this small part of her heart that felt bad for him. Maybe it was seeing him look so overwhelmed, it couldn’t be easy to be Draco right now. His father had been shamed by both sides, and was surely scrambling to gain his power back. Draco had been filled with a sense of superiority from the time he was born and so much of the façade had crumbled around him with the demise of his family.   
She began to wonder about Draco more and more over the next few days, found herself more in tune to his mood, his atmosphere, how tired he was. He was just getting worse, and she wanted to know why. She could chalk part of it up to her healing heart and wanting to comfort anyone who was hurting, but she knew it was deeper than that. If she could get into any of his tiny cracks, she could know what he was up to. She could stop him from doing something stupid or dangerous or deadly. For her sake, for the sake of The Order, and for the sake of Draco himself.


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Hermione had a bold idea. She wasn’t sure if it was stupid, but she had weighed the pros and cons out in her head several times and she found that ultimately it could do more good than harm. Worst case, Draco Malfoy screamed profanities at her and stormed off, best case, she was a little closer to any sort of insight, any hint at what Malfoy was doing at Hogwarts and not at home playing loyal servant to Voldemort.  
Hermione pushed open the doors of the empty Charms classroom. There was Malfoy, somehow thinner than the last time she had seen him and distracted enough that he didn’t hear her come in. There it was again, that brief flicker of a moment where his face was resting and not pinched up into some nasty sneer before his head snapped up and he looked disgusted again.  
“Good evening, Malfoy,” Hermione said politely, as she sat down across from him and set down a large wicker basket.   
His eyes slipped from her face as she spoke to the basket, from which a delicious smell of cookies was emanating.   
“What’s in the basket, Granger? Hopefully not a poisonous snake you have set to attack me when inevitably my relentless wit starts to offend you.”  
“No, not quite, “ Hermione said, feigning disinterest and hardly meeting his eyes. She found this was the easiest way to speak to him. “I made cookies, I just get famished after my workouts and I knew I wouldn’t have time for a proper lunch earlier so I made some cookies to snack on while I work.”  
She pulled out a still warm, gooey chocolate chip cookie and took a bite. She hummed with delight before opening her eyes.  
“Do help yourself, of course. I made plenty.”

 

Cookies. It was fucking cookies. Draco wanted to sneer and tell her that even if it was the fucking end of the world and he was the last man alive and the only food on the planet were her stupid mudblood cookies he wouldn’t eat them. But in reality, it had been days since he had eaten much of anything. The smell of food had been completely nauseating to him in the last week, but not the cookies. For some God-forsaken reason these cookies smelled delicious, and to sit here starving and salivating for the next hour too proud to double back after nastily refusing them had Draco hesitating.  
“What kind of cookies?” He asked, and immediately felt stupid. Granger smiled though, raised the half cookie in her hand and said “Chocolate chip.”  
Fuck it.  
“Alright, fine, I suppose you haven’t poisoned them with veritiserum have you?”  
“Nope. And I’m eating the same ones, so I couldn’t lie if I had.” She said, too smug for her own good. He really loathed her. But he took the cookies anyway.  
They were delicious.  
“What spell did you use for these? I’ve never had cookies quite like this.”  
“So you like them then?” she asked, and she sounded so pathetically eager that the urge to tell her how disgusting and shitty they were rose up in his throat like bile, but he bit back down. That would be childish, he had made the mistake of taking the cookies and now he had to sit here and finish the hour like a good English lad and next time he could come up with some excuse, or be twice as nasty, or set fire to her dorm room.   
“I’ve had better, but I’ve had worse too.”  
She smiled and leaned in to whisper, “I didn’t use a spell. I made them by hand. I’m friendly with all the house elves in the kitchen and they let me bake down there on occasion. I just kept them warm with magic but the taste, that’s all done by hand. The muggle way.” She added, rather more straight forward.  
“That explains why I’ve had better then,” Draco said, trying to sound smug but sounding almost flirtatious instead.   
Granger gave a small laugh, leaned back and took another cookie, sliding her tongue out to the corner of her mouth to catch the remaining chocolate and suddenly Draco’s brain fuzzed up. For a moment he imagined he was holding her face tight in his hands as his tongue slipped out to lick the chocolate from her lips.  
What the fuck.  
He stood up suddenly.  
“Are you okay?” Granger asked him, the second time in as many weeks.   
He was not okay; he was far from okay.   
“You’re fucking cookies are making me sick. I’m leaving.” He didn’t meet her eyes as he stormed out of the Charms room, feeling like the whole afternoon had made him look like an insolent, stupid child. 

Upon arriving back at his empty dorm, Draco had smashed several glass things that he owned, ripped the curtains on his four-poster into shreds and briefly set fire to the carpet before the carpet growled at him and he put it out. Then he collapsed into bed and slept.  
His dreams were strange, he was in the Forbidden Forest and Granger was there, and she was telling him he had to hurry, that it had to be now. He kept telling her that he had no idea what she was talking about and tried to push her away from him but she grabbed him desperately and wailed, “Please Draco please they are coming.”   
She looked terrified, she was clutching at the front of his shirt with tears running down her face and he found that he was willing to say anything she wanted to hear, to do anything at all, to get her to stop crying.   
“Okay.” He said calmly. “For you.”  
Draco startled awake and was immediately hit with a wave of nausea. He barely made it into the bathroom before he became sick. Maybe there really was something in those cookies. He would have loved to blame this on Granger somehow, but he knew deep down that it wasn’t the cookies. Something was shifting inside of him. He was under so much stress, the fate of his entire family literally rested in his ability to kill the most powerful wizard he had ever met. It was impossible. He must have known that all along, how could he have been so cock-sure and stupid. He couldn’t kill Albus Dumbledore, he couldn’t even manage to sit through cookies with Granger without looking like a complete idiot. He couldn’t make a dent in the stupid vanishing cabinet no matter how much he practiced the repairing spells. His entire existence at this school was a farce, how could everyone not see that? Certainly Granger was beginning to.   
And the dream…she had been in his dream he was sure of it, he tried to remember her licking her lips, the chocolate, but that was too real, too much a memory and he berated himself for letting it slip into his mind again. He remembered the forest, and something important, whatever it was it had been so, so important.  
Draco began repairing the damage he had done to his dorm a few hours before, leaving the room as good as new. The sleep had been much needed but he still felt sick to his stomach. He needed to eat, something real, so he headed down to the Great Hall for dinner. 

He settled in to eat next to Theo Nott and Blaise Zabini at the Slytherin table. He put a small amount of chicken and some potatoes on his plate and tried to put as much of it down as he could. It tasted like paste. Draco looked up from his table and caught sight of Granger.   
She was laughing, her hand came up flirtatiously onto Weasley’s shoulder and Draco felt something in his stomach clench tight. What the hell was going on?  
He decided he wasn’t going to look at her through the rest of dinner, but whenever he stopped actively looking away and let his mind wander at all, she was back in his line of sight, brown curls bouncing off her shoulders, wide smile flashing at a joke that someone made.   
“Malfoy, oy bird brain!” Theo threw a piece of wet asparagus at his cheek.   
“What the hell Nott?” Draco said, wiping his face.  
“You’re over here in lala-land, what the hell has gotten into you. We hardly see you anymore and you dropped of the Quidditch team?”  
“I have a lot on my plate right now, you wouldn’t understand it.”   
Blaise nodded silently, with that look in his eyes like he already understood it perfectly but would allow Draco to go on believing that he didn’t.  
Draco had put down two thirds of his food and frankly that was already too much. He stood up and walked out of the hall without a word to his fellow Slytherins and without looking over at Granger once. 

Hermione was glad for some peaceful time with Harry and Ron. They had set off into Hogsmead early on Saturday morning, and she was adamant on not focusing on anything except her friends, and enjoying the last of the moderate weather before the snow came.   
Ron was talking animatedly about what he wanted to get from Zonko’s and Hermione was thrilled just to hear him talking about something so lighthearted.  
“It’s brilliant, really. It’s so simple. It looks like an empty glass but if you try to fill it or drink from it you get a mouth full of sand. Honestly, where do they come up with these things?”  
“Sounds disgusting mate,” Harry said, smiling at Ron.  
“I think I’ll stick to Honeydukes, I can’t wait to get more peppermint snaps.”  
“Ugh I don’t know how you eat those, they bite my lips and tongue up every time I try.”  
“Ah but the sting is part of the fun,” Harry said, winking at her.  
“Oh please,” but she started laughing despite herself. She was walking in between the boys and she stretched on her toes to put her arms around their both their necks, her left arm a few inches higher to reach around Ron.  
“I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink!” She said, and steered them down the path toward The Three Broomsticks.   
The air inside was thick with honey smoke and spiced mead. The golden trio found an empty table and sat down. Madam Rosemerta brought them three butterbeers and they felt their insides warm up in unison after the first sip.  
“Now this is exactly what I needed.” Hermione said, leaning back into the chair.  
“I bet, how are the study sessions with Malfoy going?” Harry asked.   
“I don’t know how you put up with him ‘Mione. I would have socked the git in his mouth by now.”  
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Harry said with a smirk.  
“Oh hush, it’s actually not that bad. It’s strange I thought he would outright refuse to do work or try to sabotage the project in some way, but it seems like he’s just trying to get through the meetings the same way I am.” She shrugged. She didn’t mention the cookies or Draco’s reaction to them.  
“Only, it makes me a little worried because why would Draco be so eager to get through these meetings without a hitch? It’s as if he knows I’m trying to find out what he’s up to, and won’t give me any reason to question him or send him to Dumbledore. I have no doubt that whatever he is up to; it’s no good. He’s been losing weight and his skin looks sallow, I know he’s hardly eating or sleeping its obvious.”  
“So what would make Draco so distressed?” Ron asked.  
“I told you,” Harry said, “It’s The Dark Mark.”  
“I don’t know,” Ron, countered, “like I said before why the hell would he be at Hogwarts if he had taken the mark? That makes no sense.”  
“He’s obviously working for Voldemort, as a man on the inside.” Harry said.  
Ron laughed at this, butterbeer spurting from his nose.  
“Oh please, you think Draco the ferret Malfoy is Voldemort’s man on the inside? You have to be joking.”  
“Hermione what do you think?” Harry asked.  
“I don’t know… It doesn’t make sense that Voldemort would trust Draco with anything as serious as being a spy, I mean he doesn’t exactly have a strong disposition does he? But I can’t deny it seems like he is up to something, under some sort of pressure at least. But it might just be from his father, you know how disgraced he’s been since our rendezvous at The Department of Mysteries. Maybe Lucius has some plan to overthrow The Order and has Draco as his spy. Maybe it’s not coming from Voldemort himself. I mean, hiding The Dark Mark wouldn’t be easy, even in robes.”  
“Whatever it is, I know you’ll figure it out ‘Mione.” Ron said, yawning and taking another slow sip of his butterbeer.  
“Let’s talk about more pleasant things, Harry how’s Quidditch going?”  
The three went on for a few more glasses of butterbeer, talking about sports and Slughorn and how Snape had managed to turn Harry’s favorite subject into a complete nightmare, but on the upside he was beginning to love potions, even if it hadn’t been for the potions book Harry had gotten his hands on first day of class, the Half-Blood Prince’s book, he still thought he would have enjoyed potions even if he was failing if it meant Snape wasn’t there to taint it.  
They finally felt warm and fuzzy enough to head back to the Castle. Hermione took Ron’s hand as they walked and he glanced at her sideways with a blush to his cheek. But then again, maybe it was from the cold. The temperature was dropping.  
She liked holding Ron’s hand, it felt safe in a way that was different from Harry. Harry was her brother, she had never had any siblings but she felt for Harry the way one would feel for a twin, he was a part of her but there was no attraction.   
Ron was different, she had been harboring a crush on him for years but it was somewhat muted. It was a safe place to go in her mind, an idea of a future that she liked so much. She longed to be a part of the Weasley family, to spend the rest of her life with Ron and Harry and the rest of the Weasley’s all cozied up in the burrow. She liked the feeling of his hand in hers and gave him a squeeze, feeling bold from all the butterbeer.   
They traipsed back into the castle as the sun was setting and slipped off The Great Hall for a bite to eat before stumbling back up to the dorm room, full and warm and giggling.  
Hermione collapsed into bed, her body exhausted and full but her mind was racing.   
Malfoy…What was he up to? The idea of his father sending him to spy made more sense to her than Draco taking the Dark Mark but it had serious holes. Spy on who? I mean what could Draco really do from the position of student, even as a prefect? Why would that be stressing him out so much? It was clear to her that it was deeper but she still couldn’t imagine that he was somehow working for Voldemort directly. She tried to picture it, really picture Draco as evil.  
He was a lot of things, he was a brat, he was an angry and petulant child and he his sense of self worth was seriously screwed up. He was misguided and undeniably ignorant in terms of his views on muggle borns, but that was partially brainwashing. She wondered how deep those sentiments went and how convinced he really was of his own superiority because even though Draco liked to act full of himself, the hesitation and self consciousness was always brewing just under the surface, coming out in his tight smile or his lost eyes.   
It was a shame, really. Draco was smart, he was determined, and he was someone who people naturally gravitated toward, he liked to be the leader. It was just unfortunate that what he found himself leading was a band of evil Death Eaters in the making. She wondered, as she often did about most people she knew, what he did in his quietest moments. What Draco was like without any eyes on him? She remembered how different he looked when she caught him off guard, before his face had pulled back into a sneer. She wondered if she would ever see that side of Draco for more than a split second, and as she drifted off into sleep she hoped that she would.


End file.
